生辰不吉  （4）

    我把图书馆借的书带到她家里。我给她读故事。我喜欢《水孩子》 这本书。她也喜欢。我从来不知道她病得有多重，直到那天我想要指给她看书里的一幅画，美丽的画，水孩子在大海中游泳。我把书举到她眼前。我看不到。她说。我瞎了。我心里便很愧疚。

　　她会听我念给她听的每一本书，每一首诗。一天我读了一首自己写的给她听。我凑得很近。我对着枕头轻轻耳语：

　　我想成为

　　海里的浪，风中的云，

　　但我还只是小小的我。

　　有一天我要

　　跳出自己的身躯

　　我要摇晃天空

　　像一百把小提琴。

　　很好。非常好。她用有气无力的声音说。记住你要写下去，埃斯佩朗莎。你一定要写下去。那会让你自由，我说好的，只是那时我还不懂她的意思。

         I took my library books to her house. I read her stories. I liked the book The Water Babies. She liked it too. I never knew how sick she was until that day I tried to show her one of the pictures in the book, a beautiful color picture of the water babies swimming in the sea. I held the book up to her face. I can't see it, she said, I'm blind. And then I was ashamed.

　　She listened to every book, every poem I read her. one day I read her one of my own. I came very close. I whispered it into the pillow:

    　I want to be

　　like the waves on the sea,

　　like the clouds in the wind,
 
　　but I'm me.

　　One day I'll jump

　　out of my skin.

　　I'll shake the sky

　　like a hundred violins.

　　That's nice. That's very good, she said in her tired voice. You just remember to keep writing, Esperanza. You must keep writing. It will keep you free, and I said yes, but at that time I didn't know what she meant.